


The Way Things Are Done

by seidenspinner



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bondage, Choking, Cruelty, Cunnilingus, F/M, Gags, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Strangulation, Torture, not even remotely consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seidenspinner/pseuds/seidenspinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mooney discovers that Copplepot is still alive, and she isn't very happy about it. Jim is about to suffer the consequences for not playing by the rules.<br/>(Written before episode 1.06 aired)</p><p>Inspired by Ponderosa's "Party Favor" fanart, and an additional thank you to them for betaing and making this story so much better for you and so much worse for Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Things Are Done

Jim had been expecting this since the moment that Cobblepot had shown up at his door, back in Gotham. It wasn't even really a surprise that it was Bullock who betrayed him. A call to a crime scene that didn't exist, in a dark alley where no one who cared would be watching, and then the press of Bullock's pistol against the back of his head.

"Is this how you did it? How you pretended to kill Cobblepot?" Bullock fired the gun beside his ear, then struck him hard across the temple, dropping him to his knees on the wet and dirty asphalt. Jim's vision blurred and the world tilted sideways. His ears rung in time with the sudden pulsing pain in his skull. A wet trickle ran down his cheek—blood probably.

"Don't hurt Barbara," he could barely hear himself, but it sounded too desperate. Harvey responded by kicking him in the stomach.

Jim felt his arms being wrenched behind his back, and his wrists were secured with his own handcuffs, still hooked to his belt. Bullock pulled him up to his feet and turned him towards an approaching mob.

No, only three people, Jim realized as his vision swam back into clarity for a few seconds.  
Fish Mooney smiled and patted him softly on the cheek before she turned to Bullock.

"Such a disappointment. How long can I keep him, Harvey?"

"A few days. Maybe a week. I can make up a convincing reason for him to be away for a little while. Long enough, right?"

She smiled again. "Long enough. We just need to explain to him how things are done around here. And maybe we'll have a little fun."

A cold fear gripped Jim as he watched his partner turn—without another word—and walk away. Mooney's henchmen took hold of his arms and started to drag him towards a waiting car. He struggled, twisting and kicking to try to break their grip, but Fish paid for muscle that lived up to the term and the goons hauled him along like a child.

"Put him in the trunk." Mooney waved dismissively, as her driver opened the back door for her. "Nothing personal, James, but I just had the car cleaned."

* * *

Jim lay on his side on the cold concrete floor in a back room of the club, too exhausted to even shiver. He had been blindfolded when they brought him in, but in the silence of the windowless and empty room he could hear the murmuring of the evening crowd, the clink of glasses and sometimes the faint strains of music from the band. He had been stripped naked, arms and wrists bound securely behind his back, and his jaw ached from the constant pressure of the heavy steel dental gag holding his mouth open for anything Mooney or her men wanted to shove into him. 

At first it had just been a funnel, to force him to swallow the water they poured down his throat. He was almost certain he was being drugged, he felt foggy and disoriented, and his muscles felt weaker and heavier than just the strain of immobility would account for.

After the funnel, they'd traded the handcuffs for manacles, and Mooney stood back to watch with her arms folded over her chest. She seemed to enjoy seeing her crew brutalize him, the men taking turns holding him against the wall while another man fucked his mouth. Her eyes would spark every time he choked or gagged in distress.

Afterwards, she let them beat him, as if he needed an additional reminder that he was helpless. 

Jim shifted on the gritty concrete, wincing as he traded one ache for another. If it hadn't been Harvey who handed him over there might have been a shred of hope to keep him company in the dark.

* * *

"We could bring Barbara here," Mooney purred. Her long fingers stroked his hair while he gagged, wheezing for breath around the thick cock pounding into his already raw and abraded throat. "Maybe she would like to watch. And you could watch her watching. And then every time you look at her, you would remember what happens when you don't play by the rules." 

Jim choked as the man taking him suddenly jerked against him, filling Jim's mouth with come, thick cock pulsing as he shoved deeper to force the rest down Jim’s throat. Mooney circled her hands around Jim's neck and squeezed, cutting off what little breath he could manage to draw. He struggled uselessly, still pinned against the wall by the man grinding against his mouth. She tightened her grip, and his chest started heaving, tears streaming from his eyes and semen dripping from the corners of his mouth. Her henchman slipped his cock from Jim's lips and stepped back. A violent shudder passed through Jim's body, and Mooney released him, letting him slump to the ground. A few long seconds passed before he gasped awake, shaking and choking and vomiting up a mouthful of semen and blood. Mooney laughed like he was a small dog performing an amusing trick and turned to the rest of her men.

"Who's going next?"

* * * 

Jim had stopped lifting his head to see who was approaching when he heard the door open. It never mattered. Strong hands grabbed his arms and pulled him up onto his knees. Mooney took hold of his chin, lifting his face to hers. 

"It's our last night to play, James. I'd love to keep you around, but it seems the precinct is starting to miss you." She slid a hand over his skull, nails digging in as she forced his head back to expose his neck, deeply bruised in the distinct shape of her slender hands. "But I've got a special night planned for us. I wouldn't want you to forget our time together." 

He was dragged out of the room and into the empty club, and guided through the maze of tables and booths. He couldn't get his legs to work right, feet tangling between feeble attempts at keeping pace.

"Right here. Do you want to know why this is my favorite table, James?"

Her men pushed him onto his knees under the table and bound him quickly, with practiced ease. His wrists were locked in cuffs on the underside of the table top, forcing him to lean forward to relieve the strain on his shoulders. Even now, Mooney found new ways to make him suffer or force new hurts into tender aches. A dog's choke collar was looped around his neck—the other end of the short chain was clipped to the leg of a stool. His ankles were forced apart, each tied to a table leg, spreading his legs uncomfortably wide. A tablecloth that fell to the floor was draped over the table, effectively hiding him from view of anyone else in the club. 

A short time later, the room came to life. The wait staff began to file in, lighting candles and setting out glasses and restocking the bar. The stage lights came on, bright enough to just filter through the linen, and a clattering of noise came and went as the band brought their stands and instruments up on the stage. The front doors were opened and a cold breeze rustled the tablecloths, and Jim could hear the evening crowd begin to fill the club. He held his breath every time someone walked by the table he knelt under.

The tablecloth parted and the stool Jim was chained to was pulled away from the table, tightening the collar around his neck, and Mooney sat down. She pulled aside the slit skirt of her dress as smoothly as if laying a napkin across her lap and revealed her bare sex. 

"I'm having a lovely evening, James," she murmured, her voice pitched to only carry to his ears. "I like the band playing tonight, I've got a bottle of good wine, and I know that you're going to make sure I continue to have a lovely evening. Unless you want everyone in this club to find out what's behind the curtain. There are some special guests on the premises. At least one of them is starting to worry about you. Working a sting operation is such a flimsy story." She stroked the side of his face, her fingers stopping at the gag, gripping the ratchet to open it another notch. Jim fought down a pained groan as his mouth was opened wider. 

"Well?" The ratchet clicked open another notch and Jim's breathing quickened at the pain, The hinge of his jaw being forced too wide turned the nerves along his neck white-hot. Her fingers started to move again, and before she could carry out the threat, he pressed his mouth against her mons, leaning forward as far as his arm restraints would allow, slipping his tongue between her swelling labia and lapping at her wet cunt. The steel gag was a constant frustration, forcing him to stretch his tongue to reach her.

"Falcone is here tonight." Jim tensed, but her fingers playing along the ratchet kept his attention. "I haven't told him about Cobblepot. But you knew that, because you're still alive." Mooney pulled him closer, pushing her hips up to meet him as his tongue sought her clit, flicking against the little nub of flesh. He felt her shiver with a small, silent gasp of pleasure. 

"And that's because we're friends, James. Isn't that right? And I wouldn't rat out my friends." His tongue moved faster against her clit, and she trembled with a soft laugh of pleasure, her thighs pressing close on the sides of his head. 

"I can take care of Cobblepot myself. Consider it a favor, James. Falcone never has to know." She reached down between her thighs to the leg of the stool and twined her fingers in the chain, tightening it until Jim started to choke and fight for breath. She pushed his head down and jerked the chain again. "The least you can do is finish _this_ job."

Jim tried to ignore the burning in his lungs as he continued to tease her clit with his tongue, almost dislocating his shoulders straining to get closer to her and thrust his tongue in and out of her cunt. He was shaking, his vision starting to go dark. Mooney drew her breath in sharply, grabbing the back of his head and rutting against his mouth. Desperate for oxygen, survival instinct kicked in and he tried in vain to pull away. With a long shuddering gasp Mooney released the chain, and in almost the same motion ratcheted the gag open another notch. His jaw cracked, the sound of bone splitting reverberated through his skull and Mooney shoved her fist into his mouth, muffling his screams.

"Shut up. You're just going to draw attention." When he was quiet, the only sound his breath being drawn raggedly through his nostrils, she slid her hand free, wiping his saliva on the side of his face. 

"Enjoy the rest of the evening, James. I'll be back for you at closing time." 

She pulled her dress back down over her hips and the tablecloth fell back into place. Her heels clicked as she sauntered away, leaving Jim to hang limply in his restraints. He shivered as he rode the edge of shock and pain and slipped in and out of consciousness. He waited for Mooney to return.

* * *

Jim gagged as Mooney ruthlessly dug the thick heel of one her gold pumps further into his mouth. He was lying on his back on the floorboard of the car, his bound arms underneath him and his face under her feet, pinned helplessly by her shoe. Every time the car encountered a bump in the road the sharp edges of the heel rammed against his throat, and he could taste the blood spreading across his tongue. 

He was barely aware of anything but overwhelming pain when the car finally stopped. He’d been shot once before and caught a piece of burning shrapnel, but neither compared to the week’s worth of hurt that’d been piled on him. Jim moaned weakly, coppery spit leaking from his mouth as he was pulled from the back seat and dropped unceremoniously on the asphalt. Through a blur of tears, he could make out the glow of light from the doors of a building in front of him and then the sign over the doors: Gotham General.

Mooney stepped out of the vehicle and stood over him. Her shoes were in front of his face, he could see rivulets of his blood running down one of the heels to pool on the pavement.

She reached down and stroked a finger over his lips, hooking a finger in one bar of the gag. "I'll let you hold onto this. Just don't lose it, James, I'm going to want it for next time."

A few hundred dollar bills fluttered down to whisper against Jim's face as Mooney stepped over him. "To help with the stitches," she said, sliding back into the car, but with no puddles to catch them, the money slid out of reach as the driver sped away.


End file.
